Saturday, June 18, 2016

When Alariq is exiled from his home city-state for a crime he did not commit, only six stand by his side, convinced of his innocence and steadfast in their loyalty.

The seven dwarfs must set out from Ishtara to look for a new place to call home, but in doing so, they make a discovery that puts them all in danger. They are rescued and taken in by a mysterious and beautiful outsider, who lives alone in the depths of Loraheem Forest. What follows is Alariq’s struggle to come to terms with his exile, as those around him seek to make a place for themselves in this new life. Soon, however, it becomes clear their situation is more complex than they initially realized, and they begin to wonder if there is more behind Alariq’s exile than simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Told in a unique storyteller voice, this reversal and reimagining of the classic fairy tale explores the themes of shattering betrayal, the subsequent struggle to trust again, and the basic desire to take control of one’s own destiny.

If you will, please imagine the tallest and most beautifully handsome man you can, the complete and perfect embodiment of classic male beauty, charm, and chivalry.
Now—cast this image far from your mind. For this tale is not about him. Many of such tales have already been told, and to tell yet another would be a great disservice to the other heroes of the world.
The hero around whom this tale revolves—and a hero I assure you he was, even if your faith may waver during the events that follow—was a hero of a different sort. Though it would be altogether unfair to say that he did not entirely look the part. He was as handsome as dwarfs come. Strong, in both physique and demeanor, and clearly one who commanded respect. But his jaw-length, dark blonde hair, the color of wet straw, and not even five-foot stature are not what you and I are accustomed to seeing in our mind’s eye when we think of the heroes of tall tales. Nor his slightly crooked nose or angular jawline, for that matter.
What about his personality, you ask? For, of course, looks are not all that matter in a champion. And I applaud your depth of character. But sadly, I must disappoint you and your commendable optimism. For this hero was not charming, or dashing, or gallant, or really very pleasant in any way at all. In fact, he could be downright unpleasant to be around when in one of his all-too-frequent foul dispositions. And unfortunately, it is in such a disposition that we find Alariq as we join his story.
As disagreeable as Alariq was, I am sure you will find his demeanor quite understandable. You see, his story is an unfortunate one. We find him, and his six loyal companions, banished from their city-state, Alariq for a crime he did not commit, and the others for their loyalty to him and their faith in his innocence.
Seven dwarfs they were, exiled and alone.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Olivia Black does not feel safe. Nightmares plague her sleep and haunt her days. If she has to endure one more minute stuck in a safe house in rainy Portland, she’s going to lose it. When Mike Palmer sneaks off to find her sister Kaylee without her, it’s the last straw. She has to do something.

Then Palmer’s hackers find the Dome on a satellite feed: dark, abandoned and smack in the middle of the Oregon desert three hundred miles from where it started. If they can reach it before anyone else, they can crack the computer systems and access every piece of information on PSS the CAMFers and The Hold have ever collected.

But in order to do that, Olivia must return to the origin of her fears in a race against all the forces that have ever pitted themselves against her. She must unravel decades of deceit to reveal the true origins of Psyche Sans Soma to the world at last.

I sat up in the rental van’s passenger seat, wiping drool from my cheek. Chase and T-dog’s Westfalia had stopped in front of us at a massive gate rising out of the darkness, topped with barbed wire and sporting several Danger: High Voltage and No Trespassing on Federal Land signs.
We had arrived at Umatilla, and I’d fallen asleep, like I always did in a moving vehicle, before I’d explained to my mother that I’d lied about our destination. We were not on a scenic over-nighter up the Columbia River Gorge. That had just been a cover story.
“Olivia Anne Black,” she said, pointing at the gate. “What is that?”
“Um—I don’t know,” I stammered. “We must have taken a wrong turn.”
“Is this the motel?” Grant asked groggily from the back. It sounded like I wasn’t the only one who’d taken a nap.
“No, it’s not,” my mother answered testily. “What the hell is he doing?”
She was referring to T-Dog, who had gotten out of their van carrying something bulky under his arm. When he set it down and started fiddling with a controller in his hands, I realized it was one of those personal drones. Suddenly, the little thing lit up and went whirling into the air, kicking up dust and flying over the gate. On the other side, it dipped down and stopped, a green light flashing on its undercarriage as it hovered over some kind of control panel. As I watched, a green light began flashing on the panel too, like they were communicating with one another. Because they were. T-dog was hacking into Umatilla. He was breaking into a federally-owned chemical depot.
I could feel my mother turning toward me, a question in her eyes, her lips parting to ask it.
Headlights, high and wide, flashed in the rearview mirror, blinding me. They were barreling down on us, but I only heard the rev of the engine just before the crunch of impact.
The whole van jerked forward, shoving us toward the back of the Westfalia and stopping only inches from its rear bumper.
“What the—?” Grant yelled, and I heard cries of alarm from Passion and Samantha.
My seatbelt dug into my waist and my shoulder, but the airbags hadn’t deployed, so that was good.
In front of us, T-Dog scrambled back into their van and slammed his door. The gate started to open, the drone hovering on the other side, still blinking green.
There was another crunching sound and a slight tug backwards. Then, more revving.
“Hold on. They’re coming again,” my mother said, jamming the van into drive and laying on the horn like a mad woman. We couldn’t go anywhere. The Westfalia was right in front of us and some lunatic was behind us, gearing up to rear-end us a second time.
“We have to go through,” I told my mom, gesturing at the gate.
“I know,” she said, glaring out at the windshield and revving our engine now. “Get out of my way, you two. What are you waiting for?” she mumbled under her breath, laying on the horn again and not letting up.
The vehicle behind was almost upon us. I could hear it coming.
Up ahead, T-dog glanced at me in his side view mirror, but it was too dark to read his expression. Had he and Chase set us up? Was this their doing?
The gate was open wider now, maybe wide enough for the Westfalia, but would it be enough for our bigger van?
“Hold on,” my mom said, glancing in the rearview mirror and slamming her foot on the gas.
I braced myself, this time for impact from the back and front, but it didn’t come.
We surged forward, gently kissing the back bumper of the Westfalia, both of us racing through the still opening gate. I heard a horrible sound, metal screeching against metal, and sparks flew in a shower away from us as the huge closures of the gate scraped down both sides of our van.
As soon as we were free and clear, Chase veered off to the right and pulled to a stop. As we drove past, I could see T-Dog holding the drone remote out his window, working it frantically, trying to close the gate before our attackers made it in. But he wasn’t fast enough. The pick-up truck that had rear-ended us roared forward, squeezing through just like we had. For a moment, I thought it had a really weird hood ornament, but then I realized it was the drone, flying low and toward us in front of the truck.
“Get higher,” I murmured to the little thing. As if hearing me, it did, rising above the front of the truck only to plummet a second later just as the vehicle overtook it.
And then it was gone, sucked under the huge wheel of the big truck with a soft crunch and a shower of shrapnel spraying from its undercarriage.
“Stop the van,” I told my mother, but she’d already turned and was pulling up alongside the guys.
“Who is that?” I shouted out my window at Chase, pointing at the truck as it pulled up, headlights blinding us all, the gate clanging shut behind it.
“I have no idea,” he shouted back. “But I think we’re about to find out.”
A truck door slammed.
A dark form moved, crossing the dusty swathe of its high beams, and a man emerged, tall, wrinkled, and tan, a long rifle dangling from his right hand.

Author Bio:Ripley Patton lives in Portland, Oregon with one cat, two teenagers, and a man who wants to live on a boat. She doesn't smoke, or drink, or cuss as much as her characters. Her only real vices are writing, eating M&Ms, and watching reality television.
Ripley is an award-winning short story writer and author of The PSS Chronicles, a young adult paranormal thriller series. The first book in the series, GHOST HAND, was a semi-finalist for The Kindle Book Review 2013 Best Indie Book Awards and a Cybil Award Nominee.
The second book in the series, GHOST HOLD, was released in September 2013.
The third book in the series, GHOST HEART, was released in October 2014.
And GHOST HOPE, the final book of the series will be released in the Spring 2016.
You can find out more about Ripley and her fiction on her website at ripleypatton.com.

Cassie is part of it now. Turns out, she may not want to join the coven, but that’s exactly what she did when she bonded herself to Nate. Rather than face the ordeal of joining the clan, Cassie finds it’s time for a road trip with her best friend, Whitney. The road trip was to get away, maybe learn a bit more about night humans—it wasn’t to find a deep dark secret hidden in Whitney’s past, one that may hit a little closer to home than Cassie wants to admit. With their road trip cut short, it is time to confront everyone about the lies that had been their lives, but Cassie soon finds out home isn’t exactly how she left it.

Where have all the witches gone? She’s the only witch left in town when they return. Soon she is dragged into more than she bargained for and she has to make choices that will change everything. She’s finally given a choice: does she want to be a skinwalkers witch or a wendigo witch? Too bad there are more secrets than answers. Without all the facts, can she really choose her life’s direction? Time isn’t on her side as she has to make a choice. Now she just hopes it’s the right one.

“Denied?” Cassie asked in disbelief.
“You’re not just a day human,” the boy replied, pointing to the scanner which had just tried to eat Cassie’s hand. “Anyone who is part of a ruling family must seek permission to visit before coming so that the proper welcome can be made.”
“I’m not part of any ruling family,” Cassie replied. What is he talking about?
“Ugh,” Whitney groaned. “You’re Than’s mate and thus part of the ruling family. I didn’t think about that. I figured your family or mine had called ahead of us and wanted us home. They didn’t, but this …” Whitney shook her head like she should have guessed as much.
Cassie groaned, too. Their road trip was being cut short. She just wanted to get away, and now that was being foiled by Nate, and he wasn’t even there.
“Well, technically, she isn’t part of the family yet. She has yet to complete all the bonding rituals and right now is still under her own family,” Whitney added, batting her eyes and using her movie star looks to try to win over the guy.
“Completely true,” Cassie added, trying her best to imitate her friend and her “pretty please” face.
The guy glanced first at Cassie, and then at Whitney. He gave in. “I need to verify this with my boss,” he said before he turned and walked away.

Author Bio:

B. Kristin McMichael graduated with her PhD in biology at Ohio State where she worked as a scientist before taking her passion of writing full-time. Besides writing, she enjoys chasing her kids, playing outside, and baking cookies. She lives in Ohio with her husband and three children.
B. Kristin is the author of YA and clean NA paranormal fiction. Her "Night Human World" includes the YA series "The Blue Eyes Trilogy" about a midwestern girl who comes of age in a world of battling vampire clans, the "The Day Human Trilogy" that takes place among the Appalachian Sidhe fairies, and "The Skinwalkers Witchling" trilogy that follows an apprentice witch in the Pacific Northwest. She's also the author of the NA paranormal time travel romance series "The Chalcedony Chronicles".
The Chalcedony Chronicles: http://bkmc.me/Book1Carnelian
Night Human World Series:
-The Blue Eyes Trilogy: http://bkmc.me/LegendoftheBlueEyes
-The Day Human Trilogy: http://bkmc.me/DayHumanPrince
-The Skinwalkers Witchling: http://bkmc.me/TheWitchlingApprentice
For more information on all of her books, visit http://www.bkristinmcmichael.com
Subscribe to her mailing list for new release notifications and deals: http://www.bkristinmcmichael.com/list

Four months have passed since the
E’mani destroyed the Earth and scooped up the remains. Elizabeth “Beta” Camden
was one of those taken. With the help of their enemies, the Fost, she escapes
and confronts her prior captors successfully. Though she knows she should
remain vigilant toward the E’mani, she follows her heart instead and falls in
love with Marin, the sexy Fost warrior..

She should have trusted her first
instinct.

This time the E’mani don’t come
in force--they slip in silently. And any hope Beta had of a peaceful life is
lost. She leaves in the dead of night to find the E’mani stronghold and end
them once and for all. But love is a tricky bitch. It takes a threat to Marin’s safety to make
Beta realize, if she can’t forget her past, she won’t have a future.

I stumbled
forward from the force of the blow. The flakes created a halo of white powder
around my head in the cool, crisp air then settled all over my face and neck.

What the…oh no
he didn’t. A growl rose in my throat. I turned to confront my foe. I creased my
eyebrows and I glared at him, mean-like.

With a smug
expression on his face, Marin stared back, tossing another snowball between his
hands.

“Elizabeth, you
appeared distracted. I wanted to help.” His voice was smooth, deep like aged
rum, and echoed in the unique way of his people, the Fost, almost like he was
being dubbed. The sound got me every time causing me to shiver, or maybe it was
the snow dripping down my back.

“That was
helping?” My ass.

“Yes, you were
about to walk into a tree,” he said dryly, dropping his ammunition.

I whipped
around. Sure enough, a tree loomed in front of me. Dark-gray bark, feathery
fronds interspersed with lethal spikes, blue moss climbing its trunk. Yep, that
was a tree. Well for here anyway, not like on Earth.

I glanced back
at Marin, who stood so trustingly under the boughs of another nearby tree laden
with snow. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. See, I could help too. He
looked hot, literally and figuratively.

“Okay, thanks.”

With a thought,
my power twisted deep inside, and I sent out a burst of air through the
branches. They shuddered in response and unloaded their cold, wet contents on
Marin’s head with nary a sound.

The snow dusted
his brows, his cheeks, and obscured the single streak of dark green that
coursed down the left side of his mahogany hair and framed his face. A single
flake melted on his lips.

Our gazes met
and held. His light brown eyes had a slit pupil that dilated then contracted as
he focused on me. I used to find it…disconcerting, but it was just him, along
with his long limbs, sharp features, and elaborate tattoos called jatua. All
small differences but strange enough to have unsettled me in the past. Now it
was so damn unfair how sexy I found him, alien race and all.

Marin raised an
eyebrow and licked at his bottom lip, watching me watch him. My gaze followed
the path of his tongue.

Heat spread
through me as I imagined myself tasting those lips. I tucked a strand of red
hair behind my ear. My breath slipped out in a sigh.

He smiled wide.
“Lands, I love how you look at me.”

“Stop.” I
blushed, twirling back and starting down the path we’d been walking before he
ambushed me.

“How much farther?” I asked when he caught up
and bumped into my side.

“We are close,”
Marin replied. He was so busy shaking
the snow out of his hair, he didn’t see my smile.

“Are we there
yet?”

“No.”

Ha, so literal.
“Are we there yet?”

His hands
stopped and his brow crinkled. He looked so confused I had to laugh. Then I
tripped flat on my face in my clunky snowshoes and it was Marin’s turn to
snicker. He picked me up and settled me against him, my face tucked into his
shoulder.

“You all right
there?” His words whispered past my ear.

“I’m fine.” My
voice came out a lot breathier than I intended. Damn it.

The corner of
his lips curled up. He traced the side of my face. Tingles trailed along my
skin. I put my fingers over his and stood on tiptoe in invitation. Marin
obliged and brushed his mouth along mine. Our lips clung for the briefest of
seconds before he shoved snow down the back of my coat.

I shrieked,
dancing backward. Cold, cold, cold.

Marin bolted
down the path, much more sure in his steps than I.

The jerk. He was
lucky he got out of range, or I would have gotten payback.

I fiddled with
my jacket to get the rest of the snow out, shuddering at the feeling of wet
fabric sticking to my back.

God, I hated
winter. The first snow, I marveled like everyone else. Oh, so pretty. The world
sparkled underneath the coating of white. Then the freeze set in, the biting
wind, the forced isolation. And did I mention the cold? Give me spring or
summer any day.

We were
traveling to the mines outside the city of Groos. The miners had reached a type
of rock they’d never seen before. It was dense and coarse. They couldn’t blast
through it, and their efforts were destabilizing the tunnels. They tried to dig
around it, but so far they’d had no luck. Nobody knew how thick the vein was or
how far it reached. They wanted me to try magical means to remove it. Fat lot
of good that would do.

When I caught up
to Marin, I gave him the evil eye.

Marin grinned.
“What?”

I flipped him
the bird.

He grabbed my
middle finger, “What does that mean? You do it all the time.”

He growled and
kissed my knuckle before dropping my hand. “I hate when you say that.”

“I know, thus,
why I do it.” I grinned and stepped ahead of him with a wiggle in my step.

He swatted me on
the ass as I passed. While I acted angry outside, inside I loved when he
played. He only ever did it when no one could see him. He was Clan Chief after
all, even though he was only five years older than me at twenty-five. The
position left him little time for fun and his own sense of responsibility
precluded it.

A few minutes
later and we reached our destination. A box canyon opened up in front of us,
filled with barren trees and snow. At the far end of the canyon, a cave
entrance loomed, braced by wood. A single railroad track led out of the opening
to the left and a snow-laden press stood to the side, up against the high stone
walls.

Con waited outside the entrance, his red and
green Mohawk vivid against the backdrop of white. His stout form and kind face
emphasized his resemblance to a Santa, A badass one. No fluffy red suit for
him.

Marin inclined
his head, straight to business. “Show us this rock.”

With a flourish, Con gestured ahead, and we
entered the mines with cautious steps. Just past the entrance, the light from
the two suns outside faded and darkness fell. I slowed and Marin’s hand brushed
my lower back.

“Let your eyes
adjust for a moment,” Con muttered from behind us.

As I stood
there, the walls started to glow. Streaks of aqua phosphorescence lit the
pathway ahead.

“What is this?”
I asked in wonder, moving in a circle.

“Theris, a weed.
It grows in the caves. When you break its shell, it glows.” Con held out a
small stick almost like an aloe branch that he snapped before our eyes, and a
thin, clear liquid trickled out. “The glow lasts almost a week. We carry some
on us at all times. Come, follow me.”

Con led the way
down the cramped passageway. Gravel and ice crunched underfoot. The smell of
dust filled the stale air. My breath steamed. Damn it. I shivered and rubbed my
arms through the jacket. Marin ran his hand down my spine.

It took about
five minutes of hiking to reach the antechamber. When we got there, Con stared
at me with a hopeful expression.

“Okay, you want
me to, you know.” I made woo-woo gestures at the wall.

“Yes,” Con
replied.

Four months ago,
I’d escaped from an E’mani spaceship and ended up here on Solum. The Fost,
Marin’s people and the sworn enemies of the E’mani, took me in and hid me from
their foes, but the E’mani didn’t give up easily. In one of their attempts to
draw me out of hiding, they set bombs at these mines. Several people had been
trapped inside. I’d used my magic to move the rock—how I got magic, I still
don’t know—and created a new entrance. Now they wanted me to do it again. No
pressure, right?

I reached out
and touched the wall. The dark surface crumbled under my fingertips. All throughout
the flaky stone, a silver metal streaked. Not dust or ore. This was metal, hard
and thick. No wonder they couldn’t get through it.

With a deep
breath, I closed my eyes. The power sprang eagerly to my summons. Heat spread
outward from my core and my palm tingled where it touched the rock. The chill
from being deep in the cave during winter faded.. A pulse vibrated in the air
around me, pulling me deeper. I concentrated on that sound, letting it center
me. My heartbeat synchronized to the sensation.

One. My skin
grew tight. I let my breath rush out in a slow exhale.

Two. The stone
warmed underneath my fingertips.

Three. The
ground shook in response to the power rushing to my call. I kept my hands
square on the wall.

Four. My hair
stood on end, strength rushing through me, filling me until the force of the
earth beneath my hand made me feel stretched like taffy. My mind screamed from
the pressure and I squeezed my eyes shut. I needed to hold it as long as I
could. My body shuddered until every pore sweat and my body strained from the
contact, pushed to its limits and beyond. And then I shoved all the power out
with my mind into the rock.

“Keep trying,”
Marin said and touched the rock to my left. Con did the same on my other side.
We all focused this time, but unlike the time we freed the miners, there was no
movement. The metal seemed inert. Its light gray color contrasted starkly with
the dark-brown stone.

My fists
clenched. The Fost had found another metal--ferok. It was pliable and could be
imbued with magic. With it, they could shatter the technological defenses of
the E’mani. That was a good thing, but the metal kept us from it. And we had so
little of the ferok to begin with. This was not happy news.

“Land’s sake,
why can it never be easy?” Marin echoed my thoughts.

Marin slapped
Con on the back. “We will search the library for more information. You continue
to try to mine this rock. See what you can do.”

Con nodded in agreement as Marin gathered me
up and we trudged out of the caves. Silence reigned for the next half hour.

“Stop worrying,”
Marin said.

“I’m not
worrying.”

“I can
practically hear the thoughts racing through your head.”

“I am not worrying.”
I enunciated slowly, my steps deliberate

“Yes, you are.”

“Well, fine, I
can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about the E’mani. Without the ferok, we
only have our magic and we need more. And there’s this feeling of dread,” I
splayed my hand across my chest, “right here, and it’s getting stronger. The
E’mani are out there. I know it. I’m not sure why they haven’t attacked us yet,
but they will. We need a weapon.”

The E’mani
wouldn’t have forgotten about me or the Fost. I didn’t hold out hope that they’d
forgotten about the men they’d lost in their attempts to recapture me either.

“The land
protects us,” Marin replied.

A snort escaped
me. “Magic vs. machine. That didn’t work out so well for you guys the last
time.”

Marin tossed me
a chiding look. “We survived, did we not? That is what matters. And we have
lived as we are meant.”

God, his words
made my teeth itch. “You can’t think the E’mani aren’t planning retaliation.
They are not a forgiving race.”

I’d know having
been their prisoner and all. And the more I thought about the E’mani, the more
hatred stirred inside me. I loathed those pale freaks. They’d destroyed my
world, in their never-ending quest to “make things better.” Then they brought
me here. I didn’t remember much of my time with them, not yet. But I recalled
enough to despise them. They were not kind masters.

White eyes
stared at me through amber glass, E’mani eyes.

“Hello,
Elizabeth,” Xade crooned. Light flashed off the razor sharp edge of the scalpel
in his hands. “Time for more samples.”

Marin’s words
snapped me out of my memories with a jolt. “We all know the E’mani are coming.
But the winter has been harsh, more so than usual. And before they came after
you, it had been ages since the last time we saw them. They left this world
long ago to recoup their losses after the war. They left even while we were
still fighting and maintain only a small presence out in Industry.”

My jaw set.
“Good. Industry is where I need to go. I need to find one of their labs.”

Marin sighed.
“We have talked about this, Elizabeth. First, you have no idea where to find a
lab. And second, you have no idea what you need to do if you did find it.”

“I remember some
of what they taught me. And being in the labs, where they kept me, will help me
remember even more. I scared them, Marin. Me. When I confronted them—”

“It might not
have been you. It might have been all the lightning you were throwing around,
or the blade Zanth wielded,” he argued.

“It was me; I
could tell. I know something that can hurt them, I can feel it. The E’mani were
frightened enough of me that they came in force to capture or kill me and it
has to do with the labs. I know there is something I’m meant to do, and soon.
If not, something bad is going to happen.” Chills shivered down my spine. I
heard the faint echo of screams—men’s and women’s—from long ago. They had a
plan for us, just like they had for Earth. How could I stop it? “Marin?”

“Yes.”

“If I asked you
to, would you leave with me, today, and travel to Industry?”

Marin blinked.
“Today? No, we need to plan these things, you know that, Elizabeth. To go now
would be stupid.”

I stomped
forward on the trail. “Of course it would be. How silly of me. You’re right.”

“Elizabeth,
please.” Marin caught up and put his arm around my shoulder. “We will go to
Industry soon. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah, you
keep saying that.” I let my head fall against his shoulder. Arguing with Marin
never seemed to end how I wanted it to. No use being pissy about it now. And he
was right, which was even worse. To go during winter would be foolish, but
still…

A few minutes
passed. The snow crackled beneath our feet. It was cold enough, I’d long since
lost feeling in my toes.

The entrance to
the city of Groos came into view. There was a large chiseled gate built into
the natural arch that fronted the valley. They built the gatehouse into the
valley walls itself and tunneled above the gate, giving the guards a clear
sight line of anyone approaching.

Bas-relief
scenes covered the arch’s surface blending with the rock face. One scene
depicted a Fost couple embracing in a corner their arms wrapped around one
another. In the other corner was a Coreck, a catlike creature that stood on two
legs, with a long tongue. Yet another showed a battle. Men fought with swords
and spaceships flew overhead. The pictures were so vivid, they seemed to flow
across the rock, lifelike and real. My fingers itched to touch the stone. Every
time I saw it, I was struck by how natural it appeared. It fit.

Colleen Myers was raised in a
large family in the outskirts of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania where she grew up on
Harlequin teen romances and stories from her mother’s work as a paramedic. She
was her high school salutatorian and attended Allegheny College on the
Presidential Scholarship.

After college, Colleen spent a
year in service in the Americorp giving back to the community at a local
Pittsburgh Women Infants and Children Clinic (WICC) before attending Kirksville
College of Osteopathic Medicine on a military scholarship.

Upon completing medical school,
Colleen attended residency at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland during 9/11.
She earned three meritous service awards from the military along with
outstanding unit awards. After serving seven yearsof active duty, she promptly
landed a position at the VA to provide fellow veterans with optimum medical
care. Still an avid fan of romances into adulthood, her love of the genre inspired
her to hone her craft as a writer, focusing on contemporary romance and science
fiction. Her background in medicine and the military provide an inspiring layer
of creative realism to her stories and characters.

Her first book, Must Remember,
the first of the Solum series, is being published by Champagne Press. The
sequel, Can’t Forget is the recipient of the 2015 RWA New England Readers
Award.

Colleen currently resides in
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with her son, and spends her spare time writing novels.

Boulder, Colorado is too quiet, and no one needs to remind Cole Spires how unnatural that is.

In the aftermath of Dracon’s death, the Daemoneum have gone into hiding. Every known Hive has been shut down and evacuated, and for the first time in Cole’s memory, the Brotherhood, Kinship, and all common houses across the country and abroad are considering lockdown. Leygates are being systematically closed around the world, and the Primordial are waiting …

In the bunker underneath the Brotherhood, Kade Sparrow is as safe as she can possibly be, or that’s the idea, but no one can explain how her Astrum necklace found its way into her bedroom. There were no footprints, no traces of breaking and entering, no evidence of any kind that someone had infiltrated the Brotherhood common house. Yet the necklace still sat on her night stand, wound in a perfect circle of gold, the tiny star glinting on its chain. And the only person who could have put it there … is dead.

In the second installment of The Primordial Principles, strange occurrences are happening across the globe. Relationships will be tested, old players will become new, foes will turn into allies, and an unlikely adversary will force Cole and Kade to go on the run.

Laney McMann is the author of The Fire Born Novels, The Primordial Principles, and The CrossWorld Chronicles (coming soon)
The product of very creative parents and the most imaginative grandmother ever, she has an untapped passion for the supernatural and all things magical. Her voracious appetite for reading fantasy started really young ~ and so did her love of words.
She writes young adult dark urban fantasy novels mixed with a spike of romance, a hint of history, a dash of mythology, and lots of paranormal.
On the non-writing side of life, Laney is a former classical dancer, music snob, chef, and a right-brained thinker to a fault. When she's not dreaming up new dead ends to torture herself with, she spends her time running and playing her music way too loud.
Laney is published by J. Taylor Publishing and formerly by Booktrope Publishing.

Stephanie has three rules when it
comes to her relationship with werewolves Shaw and Jordan—keep their lusty
encounters casual, never invade each other’s space, and no biting. The boys
have always seemed perfectly fine with all that, leaving her plenty of time to
do her magick and keep her shop going.

When the local pack leader gives
Jordan and Shaw an ultimatum—find a mate or find another city to live in—she
finds she must rethink her rules or lose her lovers forever.

Jordan and Shaw hate having to
ask their best friend Stephanie to help them find a mate, especially because
she’s the hottest lover they’ve ever had, and they want her for themselves. The
boys will have their hands full convincing Steph that rules are made to be
broken, before it is too late.

Excerpt

The smell of
burned sage never got out of robes.

Never.

Stephanie shook
the heavy ceremonial robe, the fabric soft in her hands, and sighed. Maybe it
was time to take it to the dry cleaners. Obviously Woolite wasn’t doing it. She
hung it over the back of her grandmother’s rocking chair. Tomorrow she would
worry about the robe. Tonight the boys were coming over.

Tonight she’d be
coming, over and over, if she was lucky.

Jordan and Shaw
were worth shaving her legs for. They were worth all the fancy lotion she
smeared on her body. They were...well, they were a force of nature.

She grabbed her
broom and swept the floor, picking up the little bits of herb and candle wax
and fur. Pyewacket was already in her spot atop the big wardrobe in the dining
room that held Steph’s supplies, black tail hanging down.

A soft yowl
sounded as she came close and she reached up, tweaked Wacky’s tail. “I know,
sweet lady, but it’s almost the full moon, and Goddess knows I’m not getting
any hot, hunky loving outside of the two of them.”

Wacky’s yellow
eyes glowed in the dim light, seeming to tell her what an idiot she was. That
cat was expressive, almost magically so.

“Two years and I
get about four orgasms per full moon. That’s not bad for one night a month?” It
was close to perfect, really. She got her freedom to work, update the website,
create her spell kits and ship them out. The day before the full moon she saved
for her best boys.

They were horny
then, and they put aside their worries about the pack to come to her. They
worried about their pack a lot, apparently. She was like their mother confessor
a little.

Which, okay,
whoa. Not sexy, with the holster hips and the penguin-outfit thing.

No, today was
tight jeans and a tank top, a see-through shimmery top in the same color as her
eyes, deep and dark. Hrm…but they loved her in green, though she teased them
about dogs being color blind. Oh, the green sundress. She loved that and it was
easy access.

Wacky yowled
again and she chuckled, stroking the puffy tail on her way by. “I’m making them
steaks, of course. They’re bringing dessert. You, lady, are getting tuna so you
can hide in the library.”

Tuna for her
cat, a nice long shower for her, then sizzle the steaks on either side for her
boys.

It was a good
plan.

* * * *

“Do you think
she’ll help?”

Jordan stared at
the dessert case, trying to decide between spice cake and those eclair
thingees. He ignored Shaw’s question as best he could, not wanting to think
about what they were about to ask Steph to do.

“Are you
listening to me? Do you think she’ll do it?” Shaw was one hell of a puppy some
days, bouncing and moving constantly. Jordan wanted to snap at Shaw’s ear.

“I don’t know.
Eclairs?” They were going to ask their lover to find them a mate who wasn’t
her. Why would she help?

“I like eclairs.
She likes the ones with chocolate.” Shaw looked closer. “Can I have pecan
pies?”

“Only if you
don’t pass out after we all fuck and leave me to talk to her alone.” Such. A.
Pup.

“Sorry, honey.”
Jordan smiled a little, not wanting to bare his teeth. “We need two eclairs, a
spice cake and two of the pecan pies.”

“Sure. Do you
want any cookies? We have snickerdoodles.”

Snickerdoodles.
Wow.

“No. No more
sugar for this one.” He jerked his thumb at Shaw.

“Hey!” Bright
green eyes flashed up at him from under the unruly shock of big red hair.

“I’m getting you
pies.” He popped Shaw’s ass, loving that squeak.

They got another
wide-eyed look from the little girl behind the counter. Wow. Wow. He had to
watch his damn mouth. He was just so fucking horny, this time of the month. He
could just toss Shaw down and fuck him raw. Thing was, that wouldn’t sate him.
He needed Steph, too.

There was
something about the pair of them—her sweet body, wrapped around his cock while
Shaw took her mouth. Or Shaw’s ass working him while he watched his lover lick
Steph’s creamy...

He groaned, and
Shaw stared at him, sporting an amazing hard-on and a look of pure lust. Damn
it.

They were never
going to manage to just talk to her. Never. They needed her help, though.

“We need to go.”
Shaw’s voice was pure rumble, very little human.

“Get it
together, baby.” It was just stress. The moon coming. That shit.

“Here you go.”
The girl handed over the bag with the pastry, pulling her hand back as though
they might bite her.

He didn’t even
bother handing her the cash, leaving it on the counter to give the poor girl
space. “Keep the change, honey.”

“Thanks.” Jordan
grabbed Shaw and dragged him out.

“Teasing
asshole. Fuck, I smell you.”

“Hush.” They
needed to stop revving up, at least until they got in the truck. They were
going to embarrass themselves.

“Uh-huh.” Shaw
bounced a little bit, the shithead. Jordan had to wonder whether Nyla had given
him espresso this morning.

“I mean it,
Shaw. I’ll tie you up when we get to Steph’s.” That made his pup crazy, being
forced to be still.

“You won’t.”
Shaw groaned, almost rubbed against him.

“I will, baby.
I’ll make you scream.”

As crazy making
as Shaw was, his sweet mate could make his mouth dry, make him ache for it. He
loved that boy to distraction. He reached over and touched Shaw’s thigh.

The lean muscles
jerked and jumped, shifted under his fingers, even the cloth of Shaw’s jeans
not hiding the movement. Shaw’s cock pressed hard against the zipper, and
Jordan had to fight the urge to open those jeans and take that hardness into
his hand.

“I want you,
baby. I want both of you. I can’t wait to strip you down and do you while you
lick her.” He wanted to just grab Shaw by the hair and fuck that pretty mouth.
Christ, his hands were shaking.

“I could suck
you, now, before we get there. I so could.”

“No.” No, they
had to wait. It was important not to dilute the sex magick. Steph had taught
them that. They would need every drop, so to speak.

“Asshole.” Shaw
gave him a low, pouty growl.

“You want this
to work, baby?” He finally handed the bag of pastry to Shaw and got the truck
going.

Well, Steph had
always made it clear that this was just fun and games, hadn’t she? Three buds
hanging out, drinking beer, sharing orgasms? They even watched football
together. Besides, she knew what they were, knew they couldn’t mate with
someone for life who wasn’t one of them.

He smacked
Shaw’s shoulder, just a little too hard. “It’ll be cool. We’ll be stupid in
love and wanting to make puppies.”

B.A. Tortuga Texan to the bone
and an unrepentant Daddy's Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset
hounds, getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When
she's not doing that, she's writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo,
knitting, and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA's personal saviors
include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots
of coffee. Really good coffee.

Having written everything from
fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her
damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast
Texas, but has heard the call of the high desert and lives in the Sandias. With
books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most
traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the
voices in her head.

For more information on other
books by B.A., visit her official website: